JACKSON HOLE FIRES

Nature is relentless—sooner or later it bites you in the backside and takes back its own.

That’s what kept running through my mind as I listened to dramatic reports of forest fires threatening multimillion-dollar homes in the Jackson Hole, Wyoming, area. What a tragedy it would have been had any firefighters been injured or killed defending those homes.

It is the casual arrogance of modern man that allows us to build in floodplains, forested plots, sandy beaches, earthquake faults, tornado alleys, and lava flows.

In ancient history, man built in dangerous places but often out of ignorance. Nowadays, we intrude ourselves on risky ground, fully informed of the danger. Yet we blithely charge on like the Russian roulette player.

One cannot criticize the need for humans to expand and settle. And natural catastrophes can occur anywhere on the planet. Yet it does seem that common sense eludes many of our choices. Our ego overrides the wisdom of old-timers.

These last two decades have seen an influx of suburban dwellers moving to the country. Many quiet rural communities have been “invaded” by city folks seeking a more pastoral environment. But rather than fit in, they wind up rebuilding their previous environment, which is mostly concrete malls, fast food, Wal-Marts, and theaters. They have an expectation of the protective, service-oriented technology to insulate them from inconvenience, even if their property is only a summer home.

And, it’s not such a bad thing, this trickle-down decadence. The original residents of these rural communities benefit. They like having an espresso or “TCBY” now and then. But there was a reason bear hunting was allowed, roads were closed in winter, the swamp was drained, they all had cellars, or brush was cleared. And no one built houses in the bottom of the arroyo, on the mudslide hill, or in the deep woods.

I’m sure those homeowners in Jackson Hole were warned . . . not by the real estate developers, the chamber of commerce, or contractors, but by the spit-and-whittle seasoned natives who live in trailer houses, ranches, and thirty-year-old houses in town.

So when the big fire came, the new homeowners were the only ones who were surprised, and, as usual, their expensive ill-placed monuments to modern man’s arrogance were saved to burn another day.

Which, some might say is inevitable, unless they can start paving the area right away. Because, although nature does bide its time, it is relentless. However, this summer’s lesson will not go completely unlearned. I expect we will see some of these homes on the market soon, as soon as they can get the smoke out of the curtains.